And this is it. We are back Live from the world of AM. The I Know I Said I Wouldn’t saga is complete, spanning 16 Episodes and just under a year. Anything on the subject that follows is pretty much as it happens. If you’ve got to this post without reading the last few episodes, I’d advise you do so. Just for the sake of background knowledge.

Day 5312
The foreplay was hard work. Not really hard work, but hard enough that I needed to remind myself that it was worth the effort. And it was worth the effort. It was good. I enjoyed myself. I enjoyed Her enjoying Herself. My cock hardly got a touch, but She was pretty receptive and responsive. Admittedly I wasn’t allowed near Her tits, though when I was finally allowed to carefully stroke my finger tips around Her pussy, it seemed appreciated. And then we fucked. She didn’t come hard, but She seemed to get somewhere worth going.
We kept going for my benefit for a while. Her still on top. Reverse missionary. As ever.
We slowed. As ever.

Her: What’s going to work for you?
Me: I don’t know.
Of course I know, in principal, but right now? What’s going to work right now? If I’m honest, nothing currently on offer.

We fucked a bit more.
I gave up, stopped, and stretched out. It was nothing more than a lack of will on my part.

Her: Back?
(I’ve had back issues in the past. Nothing major. Just the ravages of middle age and ongoing irritation from time to time. Nothing that would stop me fucking if I really cared to.)
Me: Head.

She sat up and rode me.
I put my hand on Her tit and  it wasn’t rejected. I left it there and kept stroking, squeezing, enjoying.
This was better.
This was engaging my head. A bit. I was being allowed to enjoy Her.
I didn’t want my hand to over stay its welcome, so I moved it to Her thigh. Then Her arse cheek. Then behind, optimistically towards Her snatch.
She flinched. Of course.
It only took three or four more thrusts for my momentum to dissipate. I pulled out of Her abruptly, ripped the condom off and all but threw it across the room.
We were done.

Her: Not one of our best.
The ending, maybe not. But was the start not good? I thought it was. It seemed to be good for Her.
Her: Can you tell me anything of what you want?
Of course not.
Me: Sticking my dick in a hole … doesn’t … isn’t … I don’t know.
It isn’t enough. There’s a head attached to my dick. A person. Someone with interests, desires, lust, kinks, passion, imagination. Me!
Her: If the things you do are uncomfortable or don’t work for me …
To Her credit She was trying, on some intellectual level. But me contorting my neck or arm or shoulder to touch Her where She wants is frequently uncomfortable for me. Burying my face in Her cunt while She lies on Her back would be pretty damned uncomfortable too, but I’d still love to do it. Good cunnilingus is seriously hard work on the tongue and jaw. Making Her cum the most reliable ways that work for Her do work for me on a psychological level – they turn me on – but they give me preciousl little physical, sexual pleasure. I’m not going to cum like that. You sacrifice your own needs for a lover. That’s what you do. That’s not what She does.
Her: … where’s the middle ground? What works for both of us?
Me: It doesn’t.

It doesn’t work for both of us.
I’m not sure to what degree it works for either of us.
It doesn’t work for me.

We slowly disengaged and turned our backs on each other.

Her: What does that mean
Me: What?
Her: What you just said.
Me: If you’re digging for some apocalyptic decision , you’re not going to get one. There isn’t one.

We lay there.
She got up for a shower.
I put on a sweater and some jeans. I’d probably get dressed properly later, but right now I needed to be not in our bed. I needed to be away from … from? … from this.
I went downstairs.
I made breakfast for everyone else.
I went out to buy milk.
I came home.
I defused the fight that was brewing between mother and child.
I made sure school uniform was on, teeth and hair were brushed, homework packed.
I sat on the floor.

20 min later when everyone else had had breakfast …
Her: What are you doing in here?
An accusatory question, but not an accusatory tone.
Me: Everything else was done.
Her: Have you had breakfast.
Me: No.
Her: Are you upset?
I had to think about that. Upset? Disappointed? Frustrated? Destroyed? Self pitying? Angry? Empty?
Me: I don’t know what the word is.
Parenting duties called Her away momentarily.
Her: What now?
Me: The school run.
Her: Then come home, have a shower, get dressed, have some breakfast, look after yourself?
Nothing. What am I supposed to say to that? It would be nice if someone else looked after me for a change? Or perhaps I’ll “look after myself” later, it’s not something you need to trouoble yourself with. Then I’ll wash the cum of my own fingers, and get on with life.
Her: I don’t know what can I do.
It’s not about what She can do. It’s about what She’s prepared to do. But how do you tell someone that they’re not making any effort when it comes to sex? How do you tell someone that having sex with them is boring? How do you tell someone that they’re not normal? How do you do that without it being counterproductive?
Her: Do you want to talk about it.
Me: Not now. Need to do the school run.
Her: Later? If you want?
It’s not like She doesn’t care. It’s not like She doesn’t want to make things better. It’s just that She seem not to want to enough.
Parenting duties interrupted again. And Her train needed to be caught.

Maybe it’s a metaphor, maybe not: She stripped the bed sheets and put them, and Her nightie in the washing machine.
By the time She left the house, She’d started to seem irritated by my lack of whatever it was She wanted back from me.

Here’s the rub, Dear Reader. (And excuse me if I sound a little angry.)
She says She doesn’t know what I want.
You have frequently told me I should tell Her what I want.
Of course She doesn’t know what I want.
That would be getting my hands on Her body, playing with Her tits, fingering Her cunt, going down on her, 69s, fingering Her arse, Her fingering my arse, me fucking Her’s, Her fucking me with a strap-on, rimming, butt plugs, vibrators, Fleshlights, ball stretchers, Her locking me in my chastity cage, phone sex, sexting, Skype sex, a bit of light bondage would be fun, making DIY pornos (I don’t really care about ever watching them), wearing rubber fetishwear together, jeez … wearing lingerie would be a fucking start, having sex outdoors, hell! having sex outside the bedroom, having sex on the kitchen table, having sex dressed, standing up, kneeling in front of Her, with Her sat on my face … … … … … …
What would be the point of telling Her any of that when She doesn’t want me to touch Her tits as part of foreplay and when I’m not allowed anywhere near Her clit when we fuck … or ever!?
What would be the fucking point?!

And then I get a text from Her. Bad news from Her best friend. Really shit news. Which kind of puts things into perspective. Kind of. Not that anything changes.

8 Responses to “Nadir”

  1. Ah! I get the bad news part. Though mine isn’t shitty, it’s not great either and does put things into perspective.

    As for the rest, I know you can’t tell her all this, obviously you can’t.
    But if you said that in order to enjoy sex, you have to feel like you’re having it with a person, so you need to be allowed to touch them, feel their skin under your hand, move your hand over them without it being rebuffed all the time.
    That you’re not doing it for them, but for your sake. That right now, you feel that it’s a bit one sided, in so far as you feel like you’re trying hard to please her (by not touching her where she doesn’t feel comfortable for example), but you would like to be able to do things that turn you on from time to time. Things like touch and kiss. And not just genitals, but simply stomach, legs, arms, back would be a good start.
    If you promised not to move too far unless she guides you there, could she allow you access to those relatively ‘safe’ areas?
    What about face, forehead, cheeks, lips?
    It seems to me that being allowed to touch her, at least touch her, would be better for you.
    Maybe draw a map of where your hands can go, without her trying to block access? Work at it together, talking about it?

    Good luck figuring it out.
    It would be nice if you could talk about it with a professional! But I must have said that already 😉


    • Professional help, yes, you’ve probably said it. I know someone has. Various people. And you right, as ever.
      On the touching part, maybe I’ve been misrepresentative. I am permitted to touch back, arms, face, neck. Legs and arse if I’m careful. But the only think that gets between my front and Hers is usually Her night shirt.
      Yes we should talk. And it happens, occasionally. In small doses. But considering the bad news (not directly for us, but for others) I don’t see it happenening tonight, and so the wound will doubtless fester, and then scar over.
      Hey ho.

    • I know, but the fact that she feels that you’re trying to go somewhere else where she feels less comfortable makes her tense up, instead of opening up. If you managed to draw a map of what was no go, and accepted it. then maybe both of you could relax a little and not feel like being invaded (her) or rejected (you)?
      And explain that if you’re not allowed to touch with your hands, at least you need the skin on skin to feel intimate. So night shirt needs to fly off.
      I’m sure it’s not going to be a discussion for tonight.
      But on the other hand, considering the length of time you’ve been going on without it, it’s not like it’s the kind of discussion that is extremely time sensitive.
      And if you can’t *say* these things, maybe write them down?
      Good luck!

  2. I like your posts just so you know I’m here and reading. I’m sorry 😦

  3. Wish i could make you feel better. Hugs AM.

  4. That night:
    Her: Want to talk about anything?
    Me: No.
    Because I didn’t. I just want it to be over.
    Next morning, I apologise for being crap. She acknowledged something similar.

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